Mike & Karen Ch. 06

Disclaimer: All characters are 18 years of age or older while actively engaging in sexual activity. This story is a prequel/sequel (sprequel?) to my other work, Alex & Alexa. Many thanks and gratuitous panty-shots from Freja and Jeanie go out to my long-suffering proof-reader and editor for his help. As always, reviews are welcome; flames will be snickered at and deleted with extreme prejudice. Enjoy!

Please Note: There are some incest themes with a secondary couple in this story. Just a forewarning.

***

Chapter VI - You Can't Help Everybody

1986...

She didn't really care for this bar; she found it smelly, noisy and rather annoying. True, the pub where she and her friends usually sang karaoke was often smelly, noisy and annoying, but this particular establishment had targeted, because it was where the frat boys from Xi Alpha Pi tended to hang out and cause trouble.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the stale reek of cigarettes and cheap beer that dominated the air of the dark interior. She couldn't believe she was in here, but somebody had to show these dogs what for. Too many girls had been teased and harassed, their behinds patted, smacked or grabbed, and the university was slow to do anything about it. Unacceptable.

She'd considered telling DeBourne, and letting him tear these fools apart, but it was also entirely possible that he would find himself expelled for giving these scum the violent drubbing they so richly deserved. Arrested, even. No, she didn't want to see that oversized lunatic expelled. Her life would be boring, then.

And so she found herself here, walking toward the loud and raucous table, stifling an uncharacteristic burp, ignoring the sting in her eyes that their acrid smoke caused. She steeled herself and approached them, maybe twelve of the goons.

Dear Lord above, they really were dressed like stereotypical preps - they even had their collars popped! She was reminded of her cousin, Rodney.

Here we go. This ends tonight ...

The loud and affected laughter around the table muted somewhat as she came up to them, with several of the denizens putting down their glasses to look at her.

"Heyyyyy baby ..." one of them said, leering at her. His eyes travelled up and down her lithe frame, over her boots and jeans and blouse. Bronze hair crowned her regal head and tawny-amber eyes flashed at them disdainfully. "You lookin' for a good time?"

"The good time I am looking for is going to come at your expense," Karen said coldly, looking down at the man and then at the others around the table. There was a loud pause, and then they all burst out laughing hysterically at her statement. A crinkle at the side of her nose was the only manifestation of a sneer she allowed herself. "I am glad you find this funny."

"Oh, babe, we're too drunk to even know what the hell you meant!" continued the one who had addressed her seconds ago. His eyes crawled up and down her form, lingering on her well-toned behind encased in those jeans. His hand began to reach out for a caress. "Maybe you wanna - ahhh!"

"Your mother is going to weep when I bite that hand off, little boy ..." she growled, now holding the hand he'd been meaning to harass her with between three fingers and pinching a nerve inside, causing him great discomfort. He whimpered as she made him stand up, obviously in pain, and then moved him away from his chair. She shoved him back contemptuously and pointed, indicating he was to sit elsewhere.

Despite how drunk he might have been, he staggered off to find a seat at the bar. The other preps were still gaping at her when she sat down in the vacated seat and looked around the table.

"So," she began, ignoring the burn of cigarette smoke in her throat. "Which of you hebetudinous bottom-feeders is in charge?"

Seconds passed before everyone looked at one man, wearing a polo shirt and a sweater casually wrapped around his shoulders. His dark brown hair was short and neat, his nails immaculate. He shrugged as he looked at her. "Guess I am. What can we do for you, Miss ..."

"You don't get my name, at least not yet," she said curtly. "I'm here because you and your clones have been harassing women off-campus and I'm going to make you stop."

After another round of laughter, the designated leader shrugged and smirked. "Conduct off-campus isn't grounds for expulsion, toots," he replied. "And grabbing ass isn't the same thing as rapin' a girl ... even if it's less fun."

Another round of laughter, along with idiotic secret gestures and handshakes among the dolts, all at the expense of Karen and her gender. She waited patiently for the merriment to die down, staring intently at the leader.

He waved his hand and told the other frats to shut up before looking at her, some of his mirth vanished. "Stop us? And how, O nameless one, do you plan to do that?"

"I will make a wager with you," she said, still looking at him. "Pick any three of your companions here, the three best drinkers. I will have a drinking contest with them, shot for shot. If they pass out before I do, none of you will ever infest a downtown bar for the rest of the school year. Period."

He raised an eyebrow: "You ... outdrink three of us?"

More roaring laughter, some of which was now getting the attention of the other bar patrons, who glanced over to see what was happening. Karen waited patiently for the noise to die down.

"Let me make sure I've got this straight," he said, his eyes narrowing. "If you outdrink my best three drinkers, in shots, our punishment is we need to avoid downtown bars until the school year is out?"

She nodded.

"And what if we win?" he asked pointedly.

Karen felt a chill up her spine and steeled herself, taking a deep breath. "Then you and your friends may do whatever you want with me for the next twenty-four hours."

Everyone just stared at her in stunned silence.

"Well?" she asked, putting her elbow on the table and very lightly resting her chin on her index finger's knuckle. "Not afraid of a single girl, are you?"

"Anybody else smell popcorn?" asked one of the preps sitting next to Karen, looking slightly confused.

"Web, shut up," said the leader tersely, almost scowling at Karen. "Anything we want ... for twenty-four hours ... no tricks, no cops, and whether you're passed out or not."

The auburn beauty nodded slowly.

"All right, sister, you've got a deal," he agreed, scanning the table. "Where are we doing this?"

"Right here is fine, as far as I am concerned," she said gesturing to the large, round and rather sticky table. "Anyone not competing has to stand away, though."

"Fair enough," he agreed. "You'll be drinking against me, Holtie and Trip. How does this work? Do we take shots per turn, or do you face one opponent at a time?"

"Whichever ways suits you best," she said, shrugging. "I have no preference. One last thing, though: winner buys the shots."

"How is that fair?" he demanded.

"If you win, you get to violate and degrade me for twenty-four hours, which is worth a million times more than the shots you buy," she pointed out. "If I win, I've protected the women on campus from scum-sucking predators for the rest of the year. I'd pay a hundred times that amount to be rid of you."

His eyes flashed angrily, and he raised his hand in the air and snapped his fingers. A waitress appeared quickly.

"We're having a drinking contest with the lady here," he announced. "We'll be needing shots, lots of shots. You pick, honey. What do you want in your stomach when I fuck you senseless tonight?"

Karen looked up at the waitress, who seemed confused and rather apprehensive. "Do you have any absinthe?" she asked.

The blonde shook her head.

"Very well," Karen sighed. "Single malt Scotch, perchance?"

"We ... have quite a few bottles of Talisker ..." the woman offered.

"That will do," Karen said, nodding. "Fetch them hither, please. All of them."

She looked back at the leader, who seemed rather incredulous. More and more people around the bar were paying attention now, and curious as to what would happen.

She'd be damned if she was going to lose to this pig ...

***

Everyone watched in astonishment as the competitors stared at one another with bleary eyes across the wet, sticky table. Two of the frat boys, the ones called Holtie and Trip, were already passed out on either side of the leader, who seemingly went by the name Finn. Trip was snoring loudly with his face pressed to the table, while Holtie was slumped back in his chair, his chin on his chest, and drooling, quite unconscious.

Dozens of shot glasses littered the table. Half of them must have belonged to Karen.

"You're not ... y'can't win ..." gulped Finn, glaring at her unsteadily, waiting while someone filled a shot glass for him. He picked it up in what looked like a palsied hand, trying to keep the amber contents intact as he pointed at her. "Y'fuckin'... y'can't beat us all ... "

"I don't need to beat ... you all ..." Karen replied, blinking and taking in a deep breath. "I just need to beat you ... three ... and I have already beaten two of you ..."

"Y'goin' down, bitch," Finn slurred, getting ready for his shot. He brought it up to his mouth and somehow sloshed the liquid down his gullet, his chin glistening with saliva. He was sweating profusely and had turned quite pale. "Goin' ... down ..."

Karen held her shot glass firmly as it was filled, determined to show more composure than her opponents, even if she was seeing three of each of them. She'd been certain there were only three to begin with. Yes, three ...

She brought the shot glass to her lips and tilted her head back, the smoky, burning Scotch rushing down her raw throat. Her head swam and most of the bar had simply fallen away. She had tunnel vision. There was only her foe. Defeat him. Nothing else mattered.

She rested the shot glass on the table with a clack, and cheers erupted around her from people eagerly watching. Except for the nine gawking frat boys who were not participating, everyone else seemed to be in her corner. Karen wished she had the neurons left to care.

Finn glared as she successfully downed the shot and he angrily demanded another. His hand could barely keep still to allow the pour. He shook his head and blinked several times, his eyes glassy and pupils wide. He swallowed a burp and stared down at the shot glass in his hand. It seemed a thousand miles away.

With determination he brought it up to his lips and tried to tilt his head back, but he gagged, spewing the Scotch onto Trip before falling over, crashing off his seat to the floor. The bar echoed with roars of laughter, cheers and shouts of concern from the remaining frat boys. Karen waited until the noise had died down.

One shot. Just one more.

Sounds, slurred, indistinct and nonsensical sounds, dragged through her head in slow motion. Her vision was thick, syrupy, with people and things appearing flat, like in the credits of old Hong Kong movie reels. With supreme effort she turned her attention to her hand, in which she held the dreaded shot glass. She watched as Scotch sloshed into the little cylinder, but it might as well have been an ocean to her - a daunting ocean of fermented barley.

Why was she doing this again?

It didn't matter. If she'd done this to herself, the reason must have been a damned good one at the time. Trust your sober instincts that got you in this mess. You knew what you were doing. Finish it. One shot ...

Her arm felt like lead and she thought her head must have sagged back on the fulcrum of her neck ridiculously. It felt like it had. The glass was approaching where her mouth should have been. Her lips were numb; she had no frame of reference for the dimensions of her face.

What did a face look like? What does it look like?

Unbidden, the huge, grinning visage of Michael DeBourne dominated her vision.

"Get out of the way, you lummox!" she heard herself say indignantly to the floating blonde head, wreathed in light. "I need my mouth! You're in my mouth's way! Move! I didn't ask for you here!"

Her heart pounded in her throat, indicating that she was perhaps wishing he had been here.

"Mouth ... mouth ... geometry of a face ... look at his face ... where's the mouth?"

Karen reached out to touch his lips, to use them as a reference, and vaguely felt her fingertips touch her own. She'd found her mouth! She pinched her lower lip, and it barely tingled in response. She felt the shot glass nudge her fingers of the hand on her mouth. She slid it along her finger, found the lips and tilted the glass toward her, while somehow leaning backward and craning her head back.

She couldn't see. Were her eyes closed? The smoky sting trickled down her gullet, and now all she had to do was place the shot glass on the table. It was in front of her, she was sure of it. It had to be, unless someone had moved it.

Slowly, inexorably, she allowed her hand to fall in a controlled manner, finally rewarded with a "CLUNK!" that was louder than a cannon firing to her. Ecstatic cheers reverberated through the bar and she dimly understood that she had somehow won. Against all odds, she'd won.

Won what?

She felt herself being lifted out of her seat and then hoisted up as her vision swam around her. Was she on someone's shoulders? The air seemed much thinner up here. Her head bobbled as she tried to look around, vaguely aware of the human shapes applauding and cheering for whatever she had done.

A glass was pressed to her lips and ice water flowed into her mouth. She coughed once but held the offering in her mouth, allowing the cold to center her. Her vision cleared slightly and she noticed that she was indeed on the shoulders of two people. Dozens of others were all cheering or looking at her in awe.

Karen slowly turned her head and glanced down at the scene of her victory. Several frat boys were desperately trying to wake up three others, one of whom was lying in a heap on the floor, covered in his own sputum.

Yes, that was it. She had challenged these jerks to a drinking contest. If she lost, they could do things to her. If she won, they didn't enter a downtown bar for the remainder of the year.

And apparently she'd won.

The bartender approached her now, grinning.

"Ne'er seen anything like tha' in m'life, lass!" he said in a cheerful brogue. "But I r'member yer wager with these buggers. They'll nae be allowed back in here for the rest of the school year, an' I'll make sure every other bar downtown knows as well. Y'hae my word."

"Thank you ..." she murmured, still holding the water in her mouth and not daring to swallow. "May I ... use a bathroom?"

"Take 'er t'the staff one, quick now!" the bartender barked. She was shuffled off to the indicated lavatory, excused herself from her compatriots and locked the door behind her as she closed it.

Karen slumped down the door, begging the rushing sound in her head to cease and the queasiness in her stomach to go away. She forced herself to her knees, looking for the porcelain altar she was about to need. She shuffled toward it, thankful that it seemed clean.

Shortness of breath ... churning stomach ... giddy panic ...

"Here we go ..." she thought grimly as her body suddenly tried to fling itself inside out.

***

Karen walked unsteadily out of the bar door, waving backward as she politely eschewed any company or escort. She was feeling fine (so she said), and she had a ride coming. The crisp October night air cooled her skin and was bliss to her lungs, after at least two hours in that grummy, smoky environment. It was worth it, she told herself. Girls on campus would not have to put up with those prep jerks for at least eight months now, if the downtown bartenders kept their word.

A forest-green Jaguar XJ6 pulled up to the curb, and she watched as a man got out of the driver's seat and came around to open the door for her.

"If you value your life, Jordan, you will not mention my odoriferous nature," Karen muttered as she almost fell into the back seat. "Am I achieving clarity?"

"As always, madame," the older gentleman said in his clipped, but not unkindly, English tone. "But may one, out of personal concern, inquire as to what chicanery you have indulged in? You look like you might be in need of a hospital."

"No," she said flatly as she felt the sedan glide off into the night. "Just back to campus, please. And there is no need to tell my parents either, if you don't mind."

"My dear Karen, you know I am your devoted servant," Jordan replied, looking in the rear-view mirror at his charge. "And as always, I would humbly ask that you at least explain to me what it was you were doing, so that I can make that guarantee in peace of mind. You have always been honest with me, since you were little."

Karen sighed. "There was a group of frat boys that has been sexually harassing female students off-campus for several weeks. The university has indicated that it cannot do much if they're not on-campus."

"And what of the constabulary, my dear?" he queried. "Have we lost faith in Toronto's finest?"

She shrugged. "Those results might take forever, Jordan. And I was mad about this now."

"Those poor frat boys," he mused. "What, if one might inquire, didst thou do to them?"

"I challenged them to a drinking contest. They would not set foot in a downtown bar for the rest of the year if I won."

"Heavens, I dread to think of the wager in the other direction, knowing you as I do, madame," the man said, making a wan face. "Since I am now driving you around, I will assume that you were somehow triumphant. How many did you challenge in this tippling competition of yours?"

"Three."

"And how, madame, did you accomplish this?" he asked pointedly. "Your Gordon Highland heritage might offer you a slightly increased resistance to the creature, but not enough to take on three adult males so readily. There is no shame in having cheated, but one must inquire as to how you did."

She rubbed her face, wishing this numbness would leave her lips and cheeks and forehead. "Before I set foot in the bar, I'd swallowed a whole pound of white butter to line my stomach and retard the effects of the alcohol in my system."

Jordan said nothing for several seconds before finally speaking: "Not to put too fine a point on it, madame, but I would not want to be your colon for the next three or so days."

"Don't remind me ..." she muttered testily, settling lower in her seat and scowling, while clenching her behind tightly.

***

Alexa giggled behind her hand as she sat on a café patio with her sister, putting down her espresso cup. Karen was sitting across from her, waiting for her younger sibling to finish tittering. She was also wearing a smirk, remembering the incident. Not fondly, perhaps, but she had to admit that in context, it was no doubt amusing to hear about. The sisters were wearing breezy sundresses, Karen in light green and Alexa in white. A wide-brimmed hat shaded Karen's patrician face, since she was facing the sun.

"That's so you, Kar," Alexa sighed, finally controlling herself but still smiling. "The easy thing would have been to use legal channels, or even start organizing protests against them wherever they went, but no, you had to do something epic and absurd. I'm sure you were the talk of the campus."

"Maybe a little," Karen allowed. "I couldn't let your brother-in-law keep the spotlight to himself, could I?"

"And did he even notice or care?" Alexa asked lightly.